#thanks for sending this in !! it was fun to write :>

[classyrbf]

classmate!gojo part 2!

classmate!gojo who has been losing his mind trying to figure out who his mystery girl is. He’d assume it’s someone he knows, someone he hangs around, maybe one of the well known girls in his class. But looking at them, he didn’t really get that vibe. Sure they’d flirt with him, always hang around him, and that would be way too obvious. Despite being a part time investigator along with being a college student, that hasn’t stopped gojo from chatting with you. Still, everyday, you and him are sending pictures and videos back and forth and texting.

gojo: just tell me who you are, baby, promise I won’t bite ;)

you: where’s the fun in that, hm?

you laugh at knowing he’s frustrated. You see it on his face everyday when he walks into class, looking at his phone constantly and his eyes scanning the room. He does it in the cafe area as well when hanging with his friend, looking to see if any girl might fit his description of you. But of course, he never looks your way, completely disregarding your existence until late in the night when you’re both horny for each other. You can’t help but send him a video of you fucking your self with your dildo, your phone set up perfectly where you can’t see your face, but can see everything else. And you fuck yourself until you squirt all over your bedroom floor, legs shaking as you imagine it’s his cock.

poor gojo is just losing his mind behind the screen, listening to your moans and watching you squirt over and over, but all he’s thinking about is your face. Doesn’t stop him from getting off though. Of course he’s jerking his cock. Roughly. All the frustration is really getting to him. “Fuck! You’re really fucking teasing me, baby. You know that?”

the cycle continues for several days, until one day he misses class. What’s the problem in that? It’s the fact he needed the notes from that lecture and of course his friends never write them down. So, who did the professor direct him to? You. He’s walking up to you so casually, a bored look on his face as you’re sitting in your seat, palms sweating and internally freaking out. “Don’t mean to bother you, but do you have the notes from the last lecture?�� He sighs in annoyance, adjusting his backpack.

“Oh, um…yeah, let me just…” You reach down into your bag and doing so, gojo noticed the color of your nails, his brows furrowing. They looked familiar.

“Nice nails,” he said. You couldn’t be his mystery girl, could you? No, no it was just a coincidence. You’re just some quiet, shy, and nerdy girl who keeps to herself. No way you fit in the description.

You pause for a moment, handing him your notes. “Thanks,” you mutter, quickly standing from your seat.

“Wait, don’t you want these back?” He asked, curious as to why you were in such a rush.

“Keep em, I have a picture of them on my phone.” You grab your bag and hurriedly walk away from him, your heart pounding against your chest. Gojo watches as you disappear from the lecture hall, immediately pulling out his phone to pull up a saved picture of his mystery girl, endlessly scrolling through pictures and videos to find one with your hands.

He stops at a video of you groping your tits, eyes widening when he notices the same color nails and design. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No fucking way.” He shoves his phone in his pocket, quickly following after you, wherever you went. But he doesn’t know that you left home for the day, completely avoiding him.

You can’t believe you got so close to him today, so close you could smell his cologne and hear his voice in person. Just thinking about it had you so horny, so wet. And when he complimented your nails? It meant he was actually checking you out! His eyes were on you! “He talked to me!” You squealed, running to your room, locking your bedroom door and slipping your panties off from under your skirt. “He talked to me…he was looking at me…” You sink your fingers into your already soaked cunt, eyes fluttering shut as you move them faster, pressing against your g-spot.

Gojo stared at his phone, debating whether to text you. He needed to really see if you were his mystery girl. He needed to investigate a little more, meaning he needed to watch your every move before confronting you. “Can’t believe you really might be her,” he sighed, biting down on his bottom lip. “Those tits, that ass, that pussy, all belonging to a sweet little thing like you? Can’t be…” Gojo couldn’t help himself, palming his semi-hard cock through his jeans. “Shit, baby,” he moaned, undoing his jeans, pulling out his cock. His eyes shut, remembering the cute look on your face when he walked up to you, and he could smell your perfume too, and that voice…yeah, he could recognize that voice anywhere. You’re definitely her. “I hope you’re thinking about me too. Fuck that. I know you’re thinking about me,” he breathily chuckles, slowly fisting his cock to your pictures.

“You were so close to me today, mmmph—fuck!” You rub your clit in circles, watching a video of him jerking off his pretty cock. “Wish you would’ve bent me over and fucked me right there—ah!” You heavily pant, hips twitching. “I need more!” You reach over into your bedside drawer, pulling out your dildo. “Want your cock inside me, Toru,” you moan. “Please say you’re thinking about me too, please!”

You know he knows. He has to. Why else would he compliment your nails? And why hasn’t he texted you yet? You’ve scared him off. Of course he doesn’t want anything to do with you. But you’ll have your fun while it lasts.

I know I left it on a cliffhanger (I’m super evil 😈 )

[hyunjincanraptoo]

FOURTEEN FOURTEEN FOURTEEEEEEEENNNNN 🙏🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Your wish is my command 🙂‍↕️ this is my first time writing something like this so please be kind to me haha

This is from my prompt list. Pick a number and send it to my asks.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, threesome (Hyunjin and Felix are just sharing reader, not doing anything between each other)

Alexa, play Envolver by Anitta

For your birthday, Hyunjin and Felix surprise you with an unexpected gift

The party had been a blur of laughter, flashing lights, and dancing. Felix and Hyunjin had been practically glued to your side the entire evening, making sure you had the best time. Now, after the last guest had left and the music had faded away, the three of you were left alone, the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of a glass the only sounds in the room.

“You should be used to cleaning up after parties by now”, Felix teased as he wiped down the counter. His smile was wide, and his eyes twinkled with mischief, “I don’t mind”, you shrugged, brushing your hair out of your face as you picked up the scattered plates and cups. The room still smelled like cake and lingering alcohol.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, watching you both with a playful smirk, "Don't forget to thank us for the surprise gift later, huh?". You raised an eyebrow, "Gift?!". Felix stepped forward and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. Your heart skipped a beat as you took it from him, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, a charm that you knew meant something special to them. The charm was a piece of a three piece puzzle that only felt complete when together— a symbol of your friendship, a sign of your bond, of the fun, the mischief, and the shared moments, “Guys, this is... perfect”, you whispered, smiling wide. Your heart swelled with affection, and you pulled them both into a hug.

The alcohol you’d had earlier was still swirling in your bloodstream, making your movements a little looser, your thoughts a little less controlled. As you hugged them, a strange warmth filled you. The close contact, the way their bodies pressed against yours, the comfort of their familiarity. It was almost too much.

What started as an impulsive, messy kiss turned into a tangle of limbs and low, breathy laughs. Awkward at first— Hyunjin bumping noses with you, Felix accidentally knocking over a plastic cup— but it didn’t take long for the teasing touches to melt into something deeper. Hands slipped under clothes. Moans slipped past lips. You ended up sandwiched between their bodies, their mouths everywhere— Hyunjin kissing down your neck while Felix’s fingers explored under your shirt. The air thick with soft gasps and whispered curses. “God”, Hyunjin groaned against your skin, “You taste so good”. Felix’s voice was breathless beside your ear, “This might be the best birthday gift we’ve ever given”. And in that moment, wrapped in their heat and touch, you couldn’t have agreed more.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly and, in an impulsive rush, planted a soft kiss on Hyunjin’s lips. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he smirked, leaning into the kiss and returning it gently. Felix, who had been standing beside you, let out a small chuckle, “Humm… okay, wow! Get a room?”. But you turned to him, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed, “Why don’t you come here too?”. His brows lifted up, but he didn’t hesitate for long.

You didn’t remember how the three of you ended up sprawled on the couch, tangled in each other, clothes half pulled off and kisses exchanged like secrets. Hyunjin hummed softly from behind you, where he was pressed along your back, shirt already discarded, chest warm against your skin, “You’re such a temptation”, he muttered, kissing the curve of your shoulder before slipping his hand under your waistband, fingers brushing over your core

It was clumsy at first— Felix trying to push your pants down while you were still seated, Hyunjin’s hips nudging yours, impatient and eager. But eventually, it settled into something slow and charged. You found yourself leaning forward, bracing yourself on your elbows as Hyunjin knelt behind you, stroking himself slowly before guiding his length to your entrance, “Shit”, he muttered, licking his bottom lip. “Do you really wanna do this?” “I didn’t plan to”, you smirked, looking over your shoulder, “But now I want to”. “Fuck”, Felix laughed under his breath as Hyunjin massaged your ass, “Relax, baby”, he whispered, pressing kisses along your spine as his hand gripped your waist, “I’ve got you”.

The stretch was intense but delicious, making your breath hitch as he slowly slid inside you. Hyunjin let out a low groan, head falling backward as he sank deeper, one hand still caressing your waist while the other gripped firmly on your hip.

In front of you, Felix was already stroking himself lazily, watching the way your mouth parted, the way your hips pushed back into Hyunjin’s. He reached forward, his hand guiding yours to wrap around his shaft. Immediately, your thumb teased the head, “Shit”, he gasped. You moaned in between the slow, steady thrusts behind you and Felix’s sexy groans in front of you. Your body felt hypersensitive, pleasure hitting you in waves.

Then Felix reached for something from the table— an unfinished slice of cake, the icing slightly melted. You barely registered it before he spilled a bit of frosting over the tip of his member with a little smirk, “Let’s make dessert even better”, he said with a wink, before you leaned in to lick it off, tongue curling obscenely as he moaned at the sensation. Hyunjin groaned behind you, thrusts deepening slightly, “Are you serious?”, he panted, laughing breathlessly,“You’re licking cake off his cock?”. You chuckled between licks, voice trembling, “I multitask”.

The scene was messy, hot, and overwhelmingly intense— Hyunjin’s hips slapping softly against yours, you alternating between stroking Felix’s member and licking it, your body arching and trembling under the pressure of so much stimulation. Hyunjin was losing control, breath hitching with every thrust, “Fuck, you feel so good…. so tight…”, he grunted, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep with every thrust of his hips.

Your hand worked faster now, lips pressing kisses along the length, as Felix whined your name. You were so close, heat pooling low in your belly, tension building, unbearable. “Come for us”, Hyunjin whispered against your shoulder, voice husky, “Let go, baby”. You cried out, your orgasm hitting you hard as you felt Felix’s release on your tongue. Your whole body was shaking, muscles clenching around Hyunjin, who cursed low and spilled inside you, balls deep, eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss.

Felix leaned back, amused with the scene— you all covered in frosting, cum, and sweat. “Well… this party turned out better than expected”. You collapsed forward with a breathless laugh, flushed and wrecked, “Best birthday ever”. Hyunjin pulled you close, kissing the nape of your neck, “Next year, we’re getting more cake”. Felix raised a brow, “And maybe whipped cream”. You groaned, but didn’t say no.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[haeiheart]

LEE DONGHYUCK | NOT A BIG DEAL

LEE DONGHYUCK

SUMMARY: You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. Best friends who stick together through every minor inconvenience, every 2 AM fast-food run, and especially every party. Their little deal? If they’re both single and drunk at a party, they make out for a good time and purely to avoid awkward hookups with strangers. No feelings, no complications. It’s a good deal no? But when a new guy, Jeno, enters y/n life just like that. They both feel that for the first time, their “not a big deal” deal feels like it might’ve always been something bigger.

GENRE: friends to lovers - kind of fwb hyuckyn - jealous avoidant hyuck! - sweet jeno - minimal angst - slight reader x jeno.

NOTES: first time releasing a full written fic… bye im scared pls be kind (◞‸◟；) also first time making a header? design?? hehehehe. I hope you guys enjoy this though, i personally enjoyed written it so i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed making it for you guys!! :3 THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD SO IM SORRY IF THERES ANY ERRORS >_<

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

BEFORE THE PARTY

You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. The best of friends. The kind who finish each other’s sentences, send texts at the exact same time, and know each other’s go-to orders at every café on campus. It’s always been easy with hyuck. You don’t overthink things with him.

That’s why your little pact made perfect sense.

“If we’re both single, and we’re both at a party, and we’re both drunk, we find each other.”

It wasn’t some deep, life changing agreement. It was just a way to keep each other from making bad decisions with strangers. A safety net, nothing more. It always worked. Every single time. It was the perfect deal after all, you both get the pleasure needed in a fun night out. No commitment, no feelings.

Until tonight. But let’s rewind back a couple of weeks.

The day you met Lee Jeno.

3 WEEKS AGO @NCU CAMPUS

College life has always been a blur of assignments, late-night food runs, and whatever chaos Hyuck drags you into. Between classes and parties, your days feel like a well-balanced mix of stress and fun. Thank goodness you had your best friend to keep you sane right?

You first met Jeno during an elective course, one of those random classes you picked to fill credits unfortunately. He was the kind of guy who didn’t talk much but somehow made every conversation feel important. You sat next to him out of convenience, and it wasn’t until the next few classes that you really spoke to him, which was currently right now.

“Do you always write your notes like that?” he had asked, glancing at your mess of shorthand scribbles and little doodles in the margins. You could tell he wanted to laugh at it.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah?”

He grinned. “It’s interesting. You do know this is a literature class, right? Because your notes look more like a doodle coloring book for toddlers my baby brother's age rather than actual notes.”

You snorted. “Well, you look like you should be in an engineering class, not here.”

“I was forced to take a humanities elective,” he admitted. “But it’s not bad. I like the class.”

“Because of the material or because of me?” you teased, raising a brow.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Jeno slipped into your life.

The thing about him was that he never tried too hard, he didn’t force his presence, didn’t demand attention the way Hyuck did. He was just… there. Reliable. Easy to talk to. It was easy to get hooked on a guy like Jeno.

You started walking out of class together, grabbing coffee before your next lectures. You studied together, shared snacks, exchanged casual texts that eventually turned into daily check-ins. Somewhere along the way, you got comfortable with him. But it wasn’t until one particular afternoon that you noticed something else.

OPEN FIELD STUDY AREA @NCU CAMPUS

It was another dreadful afternoon, pilled with assignments you swore just appeared in front of your face. You and Jeno were sitting outside on campus, reviewing notes. Though half the time you guys were mostly making corny jokes and laughing at shared interests. That was until Hyuck showed up unannounced, like he always did, dropping himself onto the bench next to you with a dramatic sigh.

“What’s up, losers?” he greeted, snatching one of your fries before you could react, looking as happy as always to mess with your little head.

You rolled your eyes as a faint smile appears on your face. It’s been awhile since you saw him. “Hyuck, this is a study session. You know, where people focus?”

“Sounds lame,” he deadpanned, then turned to Jeno. “So, how do you put up with this one?”

Jeno smirked. “I think she puts up with me.”

Hyuck’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight pause—the way his fingers drummed against his knee a little too fast, the way his jaw tightened for just a second. It was so quick that you almost missed it. Almost.

But then, as fast as it came, it was gone. Hyuck smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “Well, good luck, man. She’s a handful.” You smacked his arm, rolling your eyes again, but the feeling lingered. Hyuck only stuck around for a short while and you never questioned it, but the odd part was he was too quick to leave the setting as well. Feeling lost as he suddenly got up and fled the scene after saying his byes and ruffling your hair.

After that, things felt… different. Not drastically. Not in a way you could point to and say, this is where everything changed. But the subtle things. Like how Hyuck stopped crashing your study sessions with Jeno as often. How he’d make jokes about you “ditching” him but never say it outright. How he seemed to drink more at parties, getting reckless in a way that made you worry.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, buried beneath layers of laughter and banter. And maybe you noticed it too late.

@NEOCAFE - 127 DISTRICT

Hyuck doesn’t text first anymore.

That’s the first thing you notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, you’ve been busy anyway. School, assignments, late-night study sessions with Jeno. But the silence sits in your chest like a weight, pressing down heavier each day. You truly did miss your best friend, nobody else was as much of a dork loser like he was.

You still see him around. In class, at parties, in the spaces you used to share. But it’s different now.

No more texts that say where are you? when you take too long to respond. No more arms slung over your shoulder as he drags you out of the library for a “much-needed” break. No more late-night walks, just because neither of you wanted to go home yet. God you truly did miss lee donghyuck.

The worst part? You know it’s your fault. You were the one who stopped looking for him first. You were the one who let the space between you grow. And now, you don’t know how to close it.

Jeno Notices “You’ve been quiet lately.” Jeno’s voice is gentle, his eyes scanning your face as you stare blankly at your untouched coffee. It’s the third time he’s caught you zoning out in the past hour and he was getting worried.

You blink, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the way he tilts his head, studying you. “It’s about Hyuck, isn’t it?” The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You exhale, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just nods, as if he already knew. And maybe he did. Maybe everyone did. You’ve spent so much time pretending things are fine that you almost forgot Jeno sees right through you.

So when he reaches out, fingers brushing over yours, you don’t pull away. Infact you allow yourself to get embraced by his comfort. Was Jeno’s comfort what you needed all this time?

@YOUR APARTMENT

The thing about Jeno is that he never rushes anything.

Not his words, not his movements, nothing. He lets things happen as they are, as if he trusts time to work things out on its own. Which is probably why being around him feels so easy, you always had a smile on your face when you were with him.

Like now, for example. You’re both sitting on the floor of your dorm, backs against the couch, a half-empty bag of chips between you. You’ve been talking for what feels like hours—about everything and nothing all at once.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeno says, holding up a hand to stop you mid-story, his eyes already crinkling in amusement. “You mean to tell me you climbed a tree to save a cat, but then got stuck yourself?”

You groan, covering your face. “Okay, listen—”

“No, no, no, I need to process this.” He grins, resting his chin on his palm. “How long were you up there?”

“Like… twenty minutes?” you mumble, cheeks burning from embarrassment clearly…

Jeno loses it. He tilts his head back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake. You gotta admit that laugh of his does wonders to girls. He was a real catch. A once in a lifetime cutie, you should consider yourself lucky to have him around right?

You huff, crossing your arms. “Are you done?”

He wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Oh man. I- yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good.” He snickers again. “Twenty minutes. Amazing.”

You try to glare at him, but his laugh is infectious, and soon enough, you’re giggling too.

Jeno turns to look at you, a soft smile lingering on his lips. “Y’know, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, you’re always talking about Hyuck or your friends, but I like hearing about you.” He leans against the couch, watching you. “Your dumb little childhood stories. Your love for cats. Your terrible decision-making skills.”

You snort, nudging his leg with your foot. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you love it.”

You shake your head, smiling. “I might.”

Jeno tilts his head, studying you for a second. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard. You consider lying, but Jeno has always been good at seeing through people. So you exhale, looking down at your hands.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just feel… lost.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just shifts a little closer, his knee bumping against yours. You don’t realize how much you needed that until it happens.

“I get that,” he finally says. “Sometimes it feels like you’re walking through fog, and you don’t know where you’re going. But…” He nudges you lightly. “That doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

You look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, warm and genuine. “I’m here.” You don’t know what possesses you to do it—maybe it’s the way his voice is so steady, so sure. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re important. But before you can overthink it, you lean in.

Jeno’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips quirk up in amusement.

“You’re not about to kiss me mid-existential crisis, are you?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Shut up.”

But he’s still grinning when he finally closes the distance. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first. But then you feel him smile against your lips, and suddenly, it’s all laughter and warmth and the taste of leftover chips.

You break apart for air, and Jeno chuckles. “That was—”

You groan, covering your face. “Don’t say it.”

“— surprisingly nice for two people who just ate sour cream and onion chips.”

You swat at him, laughing. “You ruined it.”

He catches your wrist, grinning. “Nah. That made it better.”

You shake your head, still breathless, still here. Jeno doesn’t fail to make your day once again, as he leans in, continuing where you both had left off as if it was almost natural.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel so lost.

PRESENT TIME

And this is how your weeks have been spent. With Lee Jeno. Full of kisses, laughter, playfulness, and comfort. Jeno arrives with an armful of snacks, two sodas balanced precariously on top. “Alright, before we do anything, I have to ask…why do you have like, seven different cat towers in your apartment? Are they that spoiled?” as he takes in his surroundings once again.

You shut the door behind him and scoff. “Excuse you, my children deserve the best.”

Jeno grins, setting the snacks down. “How many do you have again?”

“Three.” You sigh dramatically. “But honestly, I think my oldest cat hates me.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“Because I accidentally stepped on her tail when she was a kitten, and she’s never forgiven me.” You flop onto the couch, pouting. “Now every time I call her, she looks at me like I owe her child support.” Jeno bursts out laughing, nearly knocking over the bag of chips. “That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Oh, shut up. You’ve definitely done worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Doubt it.”

“Oh really? What’s the dumbest injury you’ve ever had?”

He thinks for a moment before admitting, “I once tried to jump over my couch but tripped, hit my head on the armrest, and passed out.”

You gasp. “Wait—like, fully unconscious?”

“Yup.” He sighs. “Woke up two minutes later to my mom yelling at me for being stupid.”

You’re already laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “Okay, okay, once, when I was seven, I thought I could ride my bike down the biggest hill in my neighborhood with my eyes closed.”

Jeno’s eyes widen. “No. No.”

“Yes,” you wheeze. “Flew straight into a bush. My mom had to pull twigs out of my hair for an hour.”

He practically collapses against the couch, laughing until his shoulders shake. “You’re actually crazy as a kid.”

“Thank you,” you say proudly.

The laughter fades into a comfortable silence. Jeno leans back, staring at the ceiling. “You know, I never really asked—but what was Hyuck like when you were kids?”

You hesitate, but the memories come easily. “Chaotic. Loud. Got us into trouble, like, every other day. He would drag me into the most ridiculous situations and it wasn’t even my fault.”

Jeno smirks. “Sounds about right.”

You smile softly. “One time, we thought we could build a pillow fort. We barely even got the first pillow up before the entire thing collapsed and we both fell.”

He laughs. “Did you get hurt?”

“Surprisingly, no. But Hyuck cried for a full hour because he swore it was sabotage.”

Jeno shakes his head, amused. “He hasn’t changed at all, has he?”

“Nope.” You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He’s always been… Hyuck.”

There’s a pause, but Jeno doesn’t push. He just watches you, waiting.

You clear your throat. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He hums, tapping his chin. “Alright. You know how everyone thinks I’m all sporty and serious?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” He leans in like he’s about to share a top-secret confession. “I used to write fanfiction.”

You choke on your drink. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets worse.” He sighs dramatically. “It was about superheroes.”

“What kind? Marvel? DC?”

“Neither. Completely original characters. I had a whole series.”

You clutch your stomach from laughing so hard. “Jeno. Are you telling me you were a self-insert superhero fanfic writer?”

He groans, covering his face. “Look, I was twelve—”

“NO, THIS IS AMAZING.” You grab his arm. “Did you give yourself powers? A tragic backstory?”

He peeks at you between his fingers. “…Both.”

You collapse into the couch, wheezing. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

He grins. “Alright, your turn. What’s your cringiest secret?”

You pause, then admit, “Okay this might not be cringy… but i had a harry potter phase.”

Jeno gasps, clutching his chest. “What house were you in?”

“…Slytherin.”

He high-fives you. “Respect.”

The conversation keeps flowing, lighthearted and easy. You talk about everything, old childhood memories, embarrassing moments, ridiculous hypothetical scenarios (what would you do if you woke up as a worm?), and somehow, even the meaning of life.

It’s fun. It’s comfortable.

But beneath it all, there’s something bittersweet.

Because you both know this is goodbye.

Eventually, the night slows down. The laughter fades, leaving only the quiet hum of the TV in the background. You shift, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “Jeno…”

He already knows. You can see it in his expression.

Still, he lets you say it.

“I have to go find him,” you admit softly.

A beat of silence.

Then he smiles? He smiles. A small, knowing smile. “Yeah.”

You swallow hard. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” His voice is gentle. “You never had to say it, y/n. I knew.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing it lightly. “But… can I ask for one last thing?”

You nod, already knowing what it is.

“One last kiss,” he murmurs.

So you kiss him.

It’s soft, lingering. A silent thank you. A quiet goodbye.

When you pull away, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. That was a solid 9/10.”

You snort. “Only 9?”

“Could’ve been a 10, but my foot fell asleep.”

You smack his arm, laughing. “Shut up.”

He grins. “Go. Before I change my mind and challenge Hyuck to a duel.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for your shoes.

And as you step out the door, heart racing, you realize—

This time, you’re going to run toward Hyuck.

Because he’s always been the one and it’s about time you told him.

@HYUCKS HOUSE

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

Actually, scratch that—you do know why.

Because this is Hyuck.

Because it’s been weeks. Because you let the distance grow, and now you’re about to do the most humiliating thing possible: show up at his door in the middle of the night, probably looking like a disaster, and pour your heart out.

Great plan. Really solid. No notes.

Still, you knock.

And the second the door swings open, all your thoughts evaporate.

Hyuck stands there, hoodie slightly rumpled, his hair sticking up like he was asleep before you interrupted. His face is groggy, blinking at you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

“…y/n?”

You open your mouth.

And immediately start crying.

Like, full-on tears. Embarrassing.

Hyuck panics. “Wait, huh, are you okay??”

You sniff, waving your hands wildly. “I— hiccup— I don’t know why I’m crying!”

His hands move without hesitation, reaching for your arms, steadying you. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” His grip is warm, grounding. “Did something happen?”

You shake your head rapidly, but the tears won’t stop. God you really missed him.

Hyuck makes a helpless noise before sighing and tugging you against him. His arms wrap around you, firm but careful, like he’s worried you might break.

You bury your face in his hoodie, gripping the fabric tightly.

Hyuck rubs your back in slow circles. “Okay. Just—breathe, yeah?”

You sniffle, nodding against his chest. His warmth seeps into your skin, comforting in a way nothing else has been these past few weeks.

And then, before he can say anything else, the words just spill out.

“I just— Hyuck, I missed you.”

His hold on you tightens for a second before he pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face. His brows furrow, but he stays quiet, letting you talk.

“You’re— you’re so important to me, okay? And I hate that I let us drift apart. And I hate that I didn’t realize sooner that you are—” You hiccup again, rubbing at your face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, I just miss you so much, and everything sucks without you, and I—”

Hyuck suddenly squints at you. “…Are you drunk?”

You freeze. “What?”

“You’re being so dramatic right now.” His lips twitch like he’s holding back laughter. “You have to be drunk.”

You gape at him. “I am not drunk, you absolute—”

“I dunno…” He crosses his arms, pretending to analyze you as he leans closer to your face. “Messy hair, teary eyes, emotional confessions in the dead of night… this is very intoxicated behavior.”

You groan, shoving at his shoulder. “I swear I’m sober—”

“Alright, c’mon, Crybaby.” He snickers, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. “At least cry in my room instead of my doorstep.”

You let him drag you in, still sniffling as he kicks the door shut behind you.

And just like that, you’re home.

Hyuck flops onto his bed, patting the space next to him. “C’mere, you baby.” You roll your eyes but sit down anyway, pulling your knees to your chest.

Silence settles between you. Not awkward, not tense. Just… there.

Hyuck sighs, tilting his head toward you. “You really missed me that much?”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah.”

He watches you for a moment, then scoffs lightly. “Idiot. I was always here, y’know.”

Your heart clenches. “I know. I was just—”

“Being dumb?”

You groan. “Yes, okay! I was being dumb.”

Hyuck smirks, but it softens as he nudges your knee with his. “It sucked without you, too.”

Your breath catches. “Yeah?”

“Obviously.” He huffs, looking away like admitting it pains him. “Who else was gonna make me leave my apartment and go on stupid 2AM snack runs?”

You let out a small laugh. “You love those snack runs.”

“Yeah, but I love them with you.”

You freeze.

Hyuck doesn’t seem to notice what he just said, or maybe he does, because he clears his throat quickly and sits up straighter. “Anyway. What was up with that dramatic monologue outside? You really that miserable without me?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He blinks.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “Hyuck, you’re— you’re my person.” You glance at him, eyes searching. “You always have been.” You meant it.

Something shifts in his expression.

For the first time all night, he’s quiet.

Your heart pounds. “I—”

“Wait.” He suddenly lifts a hand, stopping you. Then, deadpan— “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

You groan, shoving his face away. “Hyuck!”

He bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners.

And even though you’re this close to smacking him, you realize—

This is why you came back.

Because no one makes your heart race and your soul feel alive like Lee Donghyuck. You don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until his laughter fades, leaving only the soft hum of the night around you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he leans in.

And you meet him halfway.

The kiss is warm, slow— like a quiet understanding. Like something that had always been there, waiting to be noticed. It wasn’t like all the other kisses, the party hookups. This was real.

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just a little, enough to make your breath hitch.

When you finally pull away, he exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“…Yup.” He grins. “You definitely weren’t supposed to kiss me like that if you were drunk.”

You laugh softly, still slightly breathless. “Shut up.”

He hums, thumb still stroking your cheek. “Not a chance.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, neither of you stop to think.

Because for once, nothing else matters.

NOTES: I wouldve wrote longer but my brain fogged oops but i hope you guys enjoyed!!

[pneumaticshift]

Ok, idea if you’re interested:

Established batlantern; Bruce’s kids actually upset Bruce (hurt feelings kind of way, not angry kind of way) enough that he leaves the room and suddenly the normally super chill hands off pseudo step dad is MAD and that military background is really shining through.

Love your work, hope you’re having a good day❤️

Oh gosh, this was actually really hard to write. Serious things aren't my forte, but I tried my best. It might have ended up a bit more introspective than I intended, but I had fun writing it. Thanks for the prompt. 💚💚

———

It had taken Damian his entire life to come and claim the place that had always been his by blood. Ten years of training, of discipline, of proving himself worthy. Ten years of waiting for the moment when he could finally step up and take what was his. Not by chance or circumstance, but by design. 

Mother had sent him for her own reasons, but Damian was not merely an envoy of her will. He had not come to Gotham as a child to be battered between warlords, but as a son. The son. 

His father had accepted him, as Damian knew he would. How could he not? Damian was an excellent warrior, after all, and now doubt he would be the perfect addition to this war on crime Father seemed so insistent upon waging. It would have been an insult to logic itself for him to be denied his rightful place.

So Damian had come to Gotham. It had not been long since Mother delivered him, but after a few weeks of being granted entry into the world Batman built, Damian was beginning to understand something that perhaps unsettled him far more than it should have. 

There was a hierarchy here, and he was not at the top. 

It was a strange, tangled thing, this household. A collection of contradictions stitched together by duty, the weakness of grief, and something a little more that Damian had not yet found a name for. 

Father was not unlike Grandfather in that way. He amassed his own warriors and loyalists. He trained them and shaped them and bound them to his cause. Damian would have respected his methods, if not for the fact that where Grandfather’s forces were an army, sharpened and efficient, Father’s were something else. Soldiers, certainly, but also something messier. Something weaker.  

Grayson and Drake called themselves sons not of Batman, but of Bruce Wayne. They wore the title like it belonged to them, like they had earned it. But they were both missing the blood ties Damian could boast. He was set apart from the others in that regard, which should have given him Father’s favour. 

Blood was supposed to mean more. 

It wasn’t much of a problem. Damian had proven himself once before and could do so again. Father just had different standards that he’d have to learn. 

Which would have been a straightforward task if he had any idea of what Father’s standards were. 

He knew he would doubtlessly expect perfection in the field. Precision, control, efficiency. Those were things Damian had been honed for. The mission had rules he understood. The Manor did not. 

Father was making plans to send him to school next year — after he had ‘adjusted’ to the…family. The word itself felt foreign, like a uniform he had yet to be fitted for. He had expected battle strategy, tactical drills, rigorous assessments of his skill set. Instead, Father spoke of integration.

Pretenders to the mantle weren’t the only thing Damian had to contend with, because Father had a paramour. 

It wasn’t something Damian had expected. He was not naïve, he had known that Father must have taken lovers at some point, but it had come as a surprise somehow. It was…undesirable, he realised. A complication he hadn’t accounted for. 

He had carried, perhaps foolishly, the assumption that Father would eventually return to Mother. That once Damian had proven himself, once he had secured his rightful place at Father’s side, the distractions would fall away. That they would be whole, as they were meant to be.

A very childish notion. He brushed it aside. 

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, it didn’t change the fact that Father’s lover was a fool. 

Harold ‘Hal’ Jordan was reckless and undisciplined. He carried himself flippantly, like he had never needed to face true consequences in his life. He spoke in quips, in irreverent asides, as if nothing in the world was serious enough to warrant any kind of gravity. 

Damian had researched this Jordan person, of course, but the intelligence he received was unsatisfactory.

Oh, there were accolades. Too many accolades. The Greatest Green Lantern, a war hero, a strategist, a leader. There were classified files, buried records of missions that should have ended in disaster but, somehow, did not. 

It was all information verified by Father’s sources, but Damian struggled to reconcile it. The man in those reports — the disciplined officer, the fearless tactician, the warrior — was not the man Damian saw lounging in the Batcave, making idle conversation with Alfred, daring to tease Father.

It was a test, Damian decided. Just like dealing with his new so-called siblings. 

Of these siblings, there had been three. Damian had only met two.

The memorial erected in the Batcave was a stain on the legacy. It was a mark of failure. A Robin who was incompetent enough to die. Damian had thought it absurd when he first saw it, this shrine to incompetence. It was the suit encased in class, preserved as if it were a revered artefact instead of a mortal reminder of deficiency.

The League did not honor the weak. It made no sense that the Batman would do so. 

“Damian, are you alright?”

Instinctively, Damian straightened up at the sound of his father’s voice. He had been taking advantage of the cave’s training facilities while Grayson was elsewhere, sparing himself the strange attempts at bonding. He had already cycled through multiple regimens, and had allowed himself a moment of respite. Which he spent staring at Jason Todd’s memorial. 

“I am fine, Father,” he answered, controlling his breath despite the exertion. He would not show even the slightest sign of fatigue as Father approached. 

“What are you—” Father cut himself off as he realised what Damian had been appraising. 

He watched as his father’s expression shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. Father was not the kind of man who wore his heart so easily on his sleeve — save for the very sappy looks he would sometimes send towards Jordan (which, Damian found particularly disgusting). In the weeks he’d been a resident in Gotham, he learnt to decipher the subtleties of his father’s expression. There was a slight tightening around his mouth and his shoulders drew up as if he was suddenly bracing himself for weight. A reaction, however small. 

Behind them, Jordan was loitering by the Batcomputer. Casual, far too bright and completely out of place in Father’s domain. He, like Father, was not in uniform. That meant this was a social visit, which likely meant Lantern was staying the night. Damian contained his grimace and focussed on Father instead. 

“It’s an odd thing,” he remarked. He felt Father’s attention sharpen onto him, but neither of them looked away from the glass case. “You have no memorials for the many others who have fallen in this city, but you would give this failure a place of honour.”

Father drew in a sharp breath, and that puzzled Damian. The logic was sound. This Jason Todd, the second so-called son, had taken up the mantle and had died for his efforts. That was proof of incompetence. It was proof that he had not been worthy. Damian would never be so inadequate. 

When Father spoke, his voice was quiet. “Jason wasn’t a failure,” he said.”

“He was weak enough to be killed,” Damian replied evenly. “That is his failure."

He realised too late that the air between them had thickened. It was not rage. If it had been, perhaps he would have understood it better. No, no. This was something colder. Deeper. Something uncomfortable that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Father did not look at him, and for the first time since Damian arrived in Gotham, he had the distinct feeling that he had truly misstepped. “It wasn’t Jason’s failure,” Father said. And, without turning or saying anything more, he turned to leave the cave. 

Another test, maybe. One that Damian had just failed, and failure was unacceptable. He watched Father leave, a little surprised and a little taken aback, but he would not be so sentimental as to follow him out to try and beg for a redo. He would do better next time, he resolved. If only he knew what Father wanted from him. 

“Alright, fall in.”

The order from behind came so abruptly and so sharply that Damian’s whole body reacted before his mind could catch up. His spine straightened, his shoulders locked into place, and he instinctively awaited his next command. It was only after he had obeyed that he realised what happened. His head snapped around with a scowl. 

Jordan.

The Lantern was no longer lounging by the Batcomputer. He stood rigid, shoulder squared, and all of the playfully irreverence Damian had come to expect from him was now completely absent. His expression was unreadable. Not cold, but firm in a way Damian had never seen from him before.  

“I don’t take orders from you,” Damian said. 

“Right now, you do. So stand up straight and listen up.”

Damian bristled and curled his hands into fists at his sides. He could not accept such an insult from someone so beneath him. He had faced down masters of the craft, warriors bred for battle, men who would have slit his throat for the smallest error. Harold Jordan was none of those things. He was an undisciplined, reckless, fool of a man who laughed in the face of rules.

But, inexplicably, when he commanded, Damian listened. 

He hadn’t realised how tall Jordan was until he was directly in front of him. “You think you get it, don’t you?” Jordan said sharply. “You think because you’ve been trained by your murder-death cult, because you can kill a man twice your size, because you’ve survived your own war, that you understand what loss means.”

“I do underst—”

“I didn’t say you could speak yet.” Damian automatically shut his mouth. “You don’t understand loss. You understand death. There’s a difference.”

There was no levity there. Just something brutally steady. Damian was not used to this version of Jordan. 

“I’m gonna cut you some slack because you don’t know any better, but I’m not gonna let you run your mouth. So you’re going to stand there, and you’re going to listen to me, got it?”

“...Yes.” It was a very near thing, Damian realised in horror, not to tag ‘sir’ on the end of it. 

“You’re so trapped in your way of thinking that you think loss is about failing to stay alive,” Jordan went on. “You really think survival is the only thing that matters? That the dead don’t mean anything just because they’re gone?”

Damian’s lips parted, but he didn’t get a word out.

“Let me tell you something, Junior.” Jordan’s voice was quieter now, but no softer. “The dead don’t go away. They don’t just disappear because you weren’t strong enough to hold onto them. They stay. Right here.” He tapped his fingers against Damian’s chest, and Damian didn’t quite understand why he allowed the insult to go unpunished. 

Jordan continued. “They sit with you. They follow you. You carry them in the things you could have done differently, in the things you didn’t do at all.” His eyes flicked toward the glass case, just for a second, before settling back on Damian. “That’s what happens when someone you love dies. You get it?”

Damian did not get it and Jordan seemed to notice that. 

“You think Jason was weak ‘cause he died, right?”

“Survival dictates strength,” Damian said, but even as he said it, it sounded like a regurgitation. 

“No, survival is happenstance. You can be the best fighter in the world and it still won’t be enough. Sometimes, you don’t even get the chance to be enough. Sometimes you don’t get to fight your way out. Jason wasn’t weak. He was just a kid, just like you.”

“He is nothing like me.”

“There aren’t many kids like you,” Jordan said, his voice falling back to his usual state for just a moment before he snapped it back to the firm, uncomfortable cadence. “Jason didn’t die because he wasn’t good enough. He died because someone stronger decided he should.” He looked at Damian seriously. “Now, what do you think that did to someone who loved him?”

Damian didn’t know the answer. 

Or, rather, he knew what he was supposed to say. There was some saccharine answer that would have stopped the conversation here and now. Something about empathy and feelings and all that terrifying weakness he had been trained against. 

But the moment he opened his mouth, nothing came out. 

Jordan’s gaze didn’t wave. It didn’t soften, but there was no gloating or arrogance in it either. Just something unforgivingly steady, like a commander delivering a briefing nobody wanted to hear. 

“I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning,” Damian said finally. 

Jordan let out a soft sigh. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

He took a step back then, some of the weight in his stance easing, but the atmosphere in the cave didn’t change. It was still heavy, still pressing down on Damian’s chest, still lingering like something unfinished.

Jordan sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face before looking at him again, less like an adversary, more like — Damian wasn’t sure. He was…unsettled by this turn of events. 

“I don’t expect you to get it,” he admitted. “Not yet. You will, though. But I want you to understand something, Damian. Are you listening to me?”

Damian nodded stiffly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen, but he did so instinctively anyway — just as he would listen to Grandfather or Mother when it came to instruction. Jorgan had a way of commanding attention that Damian was only just now beginning to recognise. 

“Your old man is one of the toughest, strongest bastards I’ve ever met,” Jordan said. Despite the dressing down, Damian couldn’t help the burst of instinctive pride. “And he still wakes up every goddamn day carrying that kid’s death on his shoulders.”

“But—”

“Do you think your dad is a failure?”

“No. I think—”

“So you think he’s strong?”

“Of course. He is the Batman.”

“Yeah, well, all that strength didn’t mean shit when he lost Jason.” 

“That was different.”

“How?” Jordan shot back immediately. “Explain it to me.”

Damian forced himself not to shuffle uncomfortably where he stood. “From what I know of the situation, it was Todd who put himself in that position. Father was obviously not to blame for his mistakes.”

“Do you think Bruce sees it that way?” Jordan asked. “He trained Jason, he was responsible for him. Do you think he doesn’t blame himself for what happened?”

“That isn’t rational.”

“No. It’s not. But grief isn���t rational.” He gestured toward the glass case, toward the preserved emblem of loss that stood at the heart of the cave like a wound that refused to close. “You look at that and see failure. Your old man looks at it and sees the kid he didn’t bring home.”

“I…” Damian hesitated. He hated the feeling of hesitation, but it was there. Surprised at himself, he looked towards Todd’s memorial. And wondered. 

“Now,” Jordan said flippantly, “if you ever say anything like that again, I’m gonna whoop your tiny assassin ass, you get me?”

Damian blinked and snapped his head towards Jordan, whose entire posture had turned back to the lax, infuriating ease of a man who had no problems in the world. It was like a switch had flipped back into the off position, like the soldier had vanished and replaced once more by a man who put his dirty feet on the Batcomputer console and called Father Spooky, just to get a reaction. 

The sheer audacity of this cretin. 

Indignant, Damian opened his mouth, outrage crawling up his throat, but Jordan just grinned easily. “I could cut you down before you are even aware I have moved,” he hissed. 

“Yeah, but you’re about three inches tall and I’ve got a Lantern ring, so I really wouldn’t test me on this.” Jordan had the nerve to clap Damian on the shoulder, as if he was allowed to do such things. “I mean it though, kiddo. You run your mouth like that again, and I’m gonna put you in a ball and send you to space for a time out.”

“Father would never allow such nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s character building.”

Damian grit his teeth. “You are—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you’re about to say I’ve probably heard a million times before. Probably from your dad, too,” Jordan said. “Speaking of, I better go check on him. Because I, like, care about him, or something like that.” He gestured around the cave. “Now, you sit here and think about what you’ve done. That’s what adults are supposed to say, right?”

“Go away, Lantern.”

“God, you’re just like him, it’s so weird.” Jordan waved and headed upstairs, leaving Damian once again alone in the cave. 

He hated that Jordan managed to get in the last word. Hated even more that he intruded in on this conversation that should have been between Damian and Father. Hated most of all that, despite his contemptuous existence, something about what Jordan had said was starting to stick. 

He looked back at the glass case. 

And for the first time, he was so sure of what he saw anymore.

[bigandgreedy]

have you ever talked about or would you talk about your experience with the non profit president you mentioned? or any followers who have bad experiences with non profits. thank you

Oh they are tax shelters I worked for a lot of them usually they have a good message and spokesperson and a few (emphasis on few) well meaning people but they are all tax shelters which I didn’t realize til I got older. Not for profits are vanity projects that allow rich people to look good when they “donate” their tax dollars in the way of attending galas and such rather than just paying their taxes. Not for profit is literally like used for tax purposes it’s called 501(c)(3)

Anyway this being the case people on the board (the ppl with the money) really don’t benefit from the problem they are trying to “solve” going away. They benefit from it continuing so they can throw money at it in a way that is fun (events, galas, brunches, fashion shows, art auctions) rather than paying their taxes. This motivation of the board is reflected in their treatment of employees (punishing them when they challenge people in positions of power, general disdain for the working class employees) and paying as few people as little as possible most of them run entirely on overworked volunteers or employees who are being paid part time or like even if they get 35 hours most of their lives and free time go to “the cause” way more than 35 hours.

If you ever want to be employed by one I wouldn’t recommend it because they are also notorious for not paying and if you work for one as an independent contractor I recommend sending an invoice upon coming to an agreement rather than moving forward and discussing payment later. Email them that invoice that’s what I did at the end when I was doing some more specialized work for some of them.

Anyway let me stress there are good meaning people like those who are truly victims of circumstances that led to the creation of “the cause” and the employees and even one or two board members. Some people get so wrapped up in “charity good” that they think what they’re doing is truly good and correct. Like the money is going to a good cause. Who wouldnt prefer to just hand select what cause they want to “donate” (by way of luxury fundraising experiences) their tax dollars to that literally come clean off their tax bill. I’m talking every cent donated is a write off. Even if we know the right thing to do is pay taxes who wouldn’t wish the system worked this way? For rich people it does.

Also let me note a big part of this that is important but not glaringly corrupt is that this all lets rich people feel good. Lets them feel especially warm and fuzzy and that is worth a lot to people.

While most working people at least my generation give in meaningful ways like direct aid to people who need it which is definitely not tax deductible, most rich people of all generations would never hand cash directly to people they consider poor and thus clearly incapable of money management. That money goes again towards the non profit to distribute and again they get material experiences and goods and services even very indulgent luxury experiences like spa trips if they win something like a raffle that they used their tax dollars to buy a ton of tickets for because again they also get every cent back this time of year when people are getting smaller refunds than ever.

Anyway the good people are the overworked employees and the victims of the problem that again led to “the cause” also the one lady on the board who genuinely gives a fuck and does things like cough up direct cash not in exchange for luxury experiences when the non profit doesnt have payroll in a dry season between galas. Still she can write that off these people are saving lots of money.

My experience is with small not for profits but some of them are $70b conglomerates that lobby and control our government like the bill and Melinda gates foundation so keep that in mind.

Also it would be wrong not to mention a glaring and widespread issue with even small not for profits which is a culture of black employees especially women being antagonized and sabotaged by white people, again especially women in positions of power. A common example is out of touch woman in power says something that is possibly well meaning but still wildly inappropriate and when the employee says something like “hey don’t say xyz to me or to these people we work with its actually not appropriate” all of a sudden she’s being antagonized and sabotaged by a woman who has the power to say “oh we’re waiting on donations to clear. Your check is going to be a little late” like right before rent is due. It can get nasty and this is like I said widespread.

[alexanderlightweight]

Greetings and loves lumine! I'm so happy you’re feeling better!

For writing wednesday: tethers of fate is my favourite, can you write more about Arawn and the unseelie court, please? Or anything about the mafia Au or possessive Magnus

Thank you!

thank you! Im so happy to be feeling better too that i'm writing even though I was supposed to try and sleep an hour ago, I had fun so it was worth it

this is for tethers of fate and a bit of a mix of things in that universe. kind of a tiered view of where things are at. I hope you enjoy and sending love back!

<3 lumine

tethers of fate

“Isn’t it getting more dangerous in the above?” 

“It’s more dangerous everywhere, tad.” Alec keeps his hands steady, carefully extracting the thin, delicate roots of the plant he’s digging up. His tad’s arrival is a surprise but not an unexpected or completely unwelcome one. “Magnus is powerful enough that I’m safer than most.”

“Most isn’t completely.” 

Arawn’s voice is snide and Alec can hear the rustle of leaves against his tad’s antlers, the way his hooves dig angrily into the ground.  Around him the plants surge in angry hunger and Alec sighs as roots and leaves cling to his fingers and wrist. 

“If I need sanctuary I’ll come here first. Always.  Even Magnus has agreed to such a pact.”  

“Oh, and here I thought he’d try to stash away in one of his dear warlock's lairs?”

Alec carefully digs his fingers into the earth again, feeling out to see which plant is most receptive to transplant.  

“Well he did suggest that, yes. I just pointed out that if he really wants me safe, a place that Valentine and his rogues have never heard of is far safer than the lair of someone he’s actively hunting.”  

“That easily? I’ve never known him to give in so easily.” His tad is testing now, seeing where the current coils and where the deep undisturbed waters lay.

“I leveraged it with sex, tad.  Just like you always tell us to.” While it's true enough that Alec used sex to convince Magnus, it didn’t happen quite the way he’s implying it.

However Arawn seems pleased, which was Alec’s goal and now that he’s reached it, Alec wonders yet again just how exactly he’s supposed to balance the two great extremes in his life.  

His family and his lover.

—

The moon is high when Alexander’s message arrives.  

Instead of fire it appears in a scattering of petals, a simple request for a portal that Magnus fulfills immediately.  The magic shimmers as Alexander steps through, arms filled with boxes of plants and for a moment images overlap — a bony hand with nails like talons clinging to his arm — before it blurs from existing as the portal erases.  

Alexander smiles at him, soft and sweet, as if nothing has happened and Magnus smiles back, fury flickering up his spine even as he welcomes a kiss to soothe his rage.  It’s over far quicker than he’d like and then Alexander is instead setting the plants down.  Realizing it will be a while before he can greet his lover properly, Magnus follows him, studying his bounty.

“You know darling, I’m surprised Arawn let you bring so many, these are rare even for a prince of the realm.” Magnus truly is surprised.  Arawn is petty and just knowing Magnus might benefit from these plants would normally be enough for him to revoke Alexander's permission to take them.

“Yes, well I distracted him by telling him I leveraged sex to get you to agree to my taking sanctuary if something goes wrong up here.” Alexander already has three of the plants in the ground, working quickly and efficiently as he keeps an eye on the height of the moon.

“He thinks you needed sex to get me to agree to something that keeps you from harm?” 

Magnus is outraged.

So what if he only agreed because against this particular enemy, Arawn’s kingdom is the safest for his love. There’s nothing wrong in being careful when protecting ones heart and Alexander is his heart.

“I did need to use sex to get you to agree.” Alexander is smiling up at him, smug as if assured of his own victory and Magnus can’t help but laugh as he runs his thumb over a streak of dirt on Alexander’s cheek.

 “I was always going to agree, darling.  I just wanted to see how far you’d go in your efforts to convince me.”

—

“He’s growing too close to him.” Arawn truly hates admitting that any of his children have fallen in love but it’s worse now that it’s Alec.  The only one of his children not born of his seed and blood — though claimed by his magic, word and deed — has fallen for someone outside of Arawn’s control.  

It would have been so much easier if Alexander had just fallen for one of Arawn’s steadfast guards or knights, or even one of the wild artists that perform for his court.  

“Magnus Bane isn’t a weed we can easily pluck, tad.” Auraline’s voice cuts through his daydreams of handpicking Alexander’s future faerie spouse and brings him back to dismal reality.   

“Even the seelie queen is leery of him.”Keiran takes a honeycake and breaks it in half, “and right now he has the upper hand.  He holds both Alec’s affection and interest.”

Arawn’s current youngest groans, Iolanthe’s riot of curls bouncing as she smacks her small fists into the table, “why isn’t he bored already?”

“Later, Iolanthe.” Keiran offers her half of his honeycake as the first of Arawn’s court join them. “Quietly watch the proceedings and I’ll let you ride my fastest warhorse at dawn.”

Arawn leans towards his youngest as the seats fill and murmurs, “neither are bored yet because your brother is immune to that kind of magic and Bane has protections against such things.” Arawn taps Iolanthe's nose fondly as her face falls, “I already attempted it at the beginning.”

-

Alec is politically neutral. He’s the safe zone in a game where there are no rules. His siblings are already very fond of him and the fact that there is no maternal family/faction behind/backing him up is a huge bonus because any debts incurred stay in arawn’s court which is what’s safest. He’s also great because he’s arawn’s favorite.  None of arawn’s kids want to be his favorite, not even alec. Mostly because the meddling happens and not just how he usually is it’s times 5000. So yeah, alec is the safest sibling and also the mediator etc.  he’s also the only one who doesn’t even have to give up his claim to the throne, he just doesn’t have one.  Alec meanwhile has a lot of siblings. thankfully all he needs to do for these siblings is give them affection, a little advice sometimes (which is generally just common sense nothing complicated) and sometimes stop them from trying to kill each other.

if Alec seems more obviously sly in this, then good. he's meant to because he was raised by unseelie. all that political strategy got melded into unseelie plottwisting loophole mannerisms. he and Magnus are constantly playing little word and power games with each other. Alec is also trying to play chess with his dad and Magnus while his dad and Magnus are playing checkers with each other

alec: I just want to live with my boyfriend five nights a week and spend weekends with my family. is that too much to ask?

the unseelie court and Magnus: yes

alec is calling arawn tad which is Welsh for father

[missgryffin]

Just out of curiosity, how do you see Jilys dynamic based on their astrology signs?

Omg anon I LOVE this question thank you so much for sending it!! I have done a lot of astrology research in connection with writing because I find it to be such a good tool for characterization, so I feel like I could talk about this for days!

I'm going to do this bullet point style because I'm kind of just rattling off thoughts as they come. (And also, I can tell this is going to be long already, so I'm not going to go into their individual traits too much here, but if you google Aries Man and Aquarius Woman you'll find pleeeenty of material!!)

They have insane chemistry. It's air + fire, so how could they not? The attraction + energy match is just there, and it feeds off each other. When they're dating, they're obviously leaning into it, but before they're together, I think it wildly throws Lily off to feel this kind of chemistry with him (because it's him, y'know?)

They both value independence and approach each other as equals. This is so central to their characters. Obviously the dynamics of him being pureblood and her being Muggle-born during a war about blood purity make this incredibly important for them. But even on an interpersonal/relationship level aside from the war, it sets the whole tone for them. James is known to be arrogant and the only other person we see him give deference to is Sirius. He's not the type to suffer fools, he's not patient, and he likes to take charge and be in control, so the fact that he steps back from all of those impulses to give more equal deference to Lily I think speaks volumes about not only his respect for her but also their ability to match each other.

Building off that, they challenge each other. Because they are on equal footing in terms of skill, intelligence, energy, they can challenge and mentally stimulate each other in a way that they don't necessarily get from other people. (There's a scene coming up in ES Ch 6 that starts exploring this dynamic that I'm so excited for you all to read!!) There's a really deep intellectual attraction there in addition to the physical attraction, and this is what ultimately brings so much depth to their relationship.

They also share degrees of impulsiveness, playfulness, and creativity that just naturally bounce off each other and create a really fun energy between them. Like they're constantly flirting (especially in a teasing kind of way), and there's a healthy amount of spontaneity with them.

But! They still have challenges!!

They're both stubborn as fuck. James's arrogance can drift into a lack of empathy that makes him callous, closed, ruthless. (See: his dynamic with Snape.) Lily's strong beliefs and convictions can lead her into being hardheaded. He wants to be in control, she wants to be right—and she will go to great lengths to avoid being wrong. (See: her serious case of denial wrt James and struggle to end her friendship with Sev.) This type of clash, where one or both of them is being extremely stubborn, is the source of most of their conflict.

In a similar vein, their pride can easily get the better of them and both of them being stubborn and argumentative can turn things explosive very quickly. Passion can manifest in a bad way just as easily as it can manifest in a good way! Though I think with time they get better at recognizing this and just turn bad passion into good passion, since the root of the feeling is the same.

They struggle with communicating feelings and emotional vulnerability. Their independence makes them afraid to appear weak. Especially in all the lead-up to getting together, I think they struggle with talking about their feelings and showing that vulnerability to one another. On top of that, James can be brash and insensitive, while Lily's defense mechanism is to shut down — not a good combination. She can be aloof and distant when she's like this, and James struggling with being vulnerable makes it hard for them to bridge the gap. They both need to dig deep, put aside ego, and make an effort to resolve this kind of conflict.

[stars4you777]

Eclipsed

1.2k words

A/N: idk i just decided to write this in first block and now you guys get a fic! Im making a taglist if anyone wants to be on that send me an ask and later i can put up a vote for angst or no angst😛

Satoru was leaning lazily against a wall, mindlessly humming a nameless tune the violins are playing somewhere in the room. He’s been nursing the same glass of champagne the whole time, slowly swirling the liquid around his glass as he looks around the room. His eyes land on you, well you and Suguru. In the few years he��s known you, he’s yet to see the two of you getting along, and this time is no exception. You’re both subtly arguing, though not many could tell, but Satoru can, the way Suguru’s eye twitches just slightly and the way your nails are biting into your arm.

Yeah he noticed.

In one quick motion he downs the rest of his champagne and pushes off the wall, starting towards the two of you. Its fun to watch of course, but Suguru looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust, and he doesn’t want a real fight breaking out so he needs to step in. He tosses the glass behind him, hearing a faint shatter in the loud room as he walks towards you two. Satoru throws his arm around Suguru’s shoulders and smiles at you, dressed all nicely for their little formal gathering, Suguru said he couldn’t call it a ball so he didnt, boo.

“My my, you look stunning sweetheart, we’re so glad you could make it.” Satoru’s eyes run over you, goodness that dress-

He’s snapped from his momentary lusty haze when Suguru speaks up “Im not happy.”

“WE’RE so happy.” He gives Suguru’s shoulder a warning squeeze, “Sugu you should go get us some drinks yeah?” He knows he’s gonna hear all about his betrayal later. Geto basically despises you, so this was a temporary escape, and he starts walking off, “Thank you sugu~” he says with a wave knowing its just pissing Suguru off more.

The moment he’s out of sight Satoru is laughing, wiping tears from his eyes and almost doubling over “Oh lord- please excuse his highness’s behavior, im not sure anyone can make him as mad as you do dear. He’ll warm up eventually, maybe.”

You laugh and shake your head “I dont think he will ever warm up to anyone but you Gojo-“

You’re cut off by a finger pressing to your lips, and you look up just to be met with those pretty cerulean eyes. “Please, call me Satoru.”

“Oh- of course. Well thank you, Satoru, because i feel like another second and he would have decided to hell with manners and would have beat the hell out of me.”

Honestly he doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence after you’ve said his name, because goodness does that name sound beautiful coming from your lips, it sounds so sinful yet so sweet, he could cream his pants just from that alone.

He doesn’t even realize he’s staring at you until you say his name again to get his attention and a red hot blush flushes his face. “Oh- oh sorry i zoned out. Its quite loud in here, how about we go for a walk?”

You agree, and as your walking out Suguru returns with the drinks and catches the two of you leaving, his eye twitching. Traitor…

_____________________________

After that night he just knew it, he had to have you, he had been acquainted with you for years, friends for a few months, and now? Now he just wants you all to himself, and that’s selfish because what if you don’t want him? Of course you want him who doesn’t? But…

He’s pulled from his internal monologue when he sees you walk out your front door across the street and sit down on the porch swing, holding a steaming mug, tea, he knows you hate coffee. He thinks back to your walk together, back to your words…

_____________________________

The night air was cool against your skin, walking just a bit ahead of him, your eyes on the moon. “Are you more of a sunset or sunrise kind of guy?”

“Where did that come from?”

“I just want to know, ive always pinned you as the sunset type.”

“Sunrise. The promise of a new day is so refreshing.”

The two of you stop and you look at him and smile “Thats poetic.”

“Maybe. I assume you’re more the sunset type? Theres a certain romance to sunsets, always pinned you for a romantic.”

“I guess i am, the sunrise kind of matches you honestly.” You smile and look him over “But the sunset makes the sky feel alive. Watching the moon take its place across from the sun, I’ve always seen them like lovers, the sun and the moon. It’s like they’re saying hello before they’re forced apart again. A tragic romance really.” You look away and your eyes drift back to the moon.

You’re looking at the moon, but damn it he cant tear his eyes off you. Your words, they hit deep in his chest, he never thou of it like that. The way you see the world is utterly captivating, poetic, beautiful. He’s staring again, but he doesn’t want to look away anytime soon.

_____________________________

So here he was making his way over to you again, to his moon. The sun is slowly rising, painting the sky orange and pink with hints of red, but its not as captivating as you. You dont notice him until your swing stops momentarily and he sits down by you, arms stretching over the back of the swing.

“Good morning Satoru.”

He could get used to that. To you. To cozy mornings.

_____________________________

“The way you think is captivating.”

You turn back to him and smile, “You’re a sweet guy, y’know? I hope you find the moon to your sun one day, Satoru.”

His heart fluttered in his chest and before he could say anything you were walking away. You took his heart with you that day.

_____________________________

Months. It had been months and he has absolutely failed to make you realize that he wants you, maybe you’re just dense, maybe he’s bad at this flirting thing. This time he was going to make you realize. He needed to.

There you sat on your porch, currently sketching out none other then Satoru, he was late today but he showed up as the sun began to set, and his eyes landed on the sketchbook, blushing slightly at the sight.

“So, ‘s that me?”

“Yeah, it is. Oh look, the lovers are out.” Using your pencil you point to the sun and moon, simultaneously in the sky, shining across from eachother. The way you put it. “The lovers.” Goodness he wished you were referring to the two of you instead. You’re talking again before he gathers the courage to speak up.

“You know, the sun and moons love story is honestly so sad, the original starcrossed lovers. The sun is always chasing the moon, and the moons always just ahead, but to the moon, its flipped, chasing for eons, only shining because it reflects the sun. Its like they’re never to be together. They dont know they’re chasing eachother.”

Satoru is stunned, staring at you in disbelief. Your words, they struck a nerve, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, you were doing the same thing he was doing.

Chasing

You’re his moon, He’s your sun.

_____________________________

Chatters if yall want a pt2 send me an ask 😛

[peachesofteal]

oh my gawd peaches i was about to send you an ask describing a fic i read months ago. i could remember extremely specific plot details but not the title or author. i decided to take one last gander with process of elimination by ao3 tags before sending an ask, and um. i found it. its black sun. YOUR fic. i swear to god the fairies must have stolen it for a little while because i looked high and low for it and it was sitting right in front of me. its now safely bookmarked, and i am awfully glad i did not write in to ask you about your own fic because that would have been very silly 🫣. thank you so much for sharing your writing with us, and for inadvertently leading me back to one of my favorite fics.

Black Sun was so much fun to write, I'm so glad you like it! I love that version of Simon too much. Happy you found it again too

[galaxymagitech]

hello!! i'm a big fan of your fic "Bleed the Poison Out" (and i'm definitely putting it on multiple fic rec lists). it has such a good portrayal of bruce and dick's relationship <3

so for the ask game: ✰ NEW SHAPES ☹ EVIL TWIN ♡ SMALL THINGS

Thank you so much!!! That is one of my favorite fics I’ve written, and probably in my top three of Bruce & Dick fics to write, so I’m really glad you enjoyed it. Sorry for taking so long :(

Bleed the Poison Out | Ask Game

♡ SMALL THINGS: pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite minor detail from it!

Hmm. This fic means a lot to me, so it’s difficult to find something that feels minor, but…I think I’d go with the soft rug that has the pizza sauce and blood stains. The fic can feel very isolating (to me, at least), like Bruce and Dick are the only two people in the world—even when other people come up, they’re a distraction tactic. But the rug is just there, and a sign of Dick’s connections beyond just Bruce. Even if he never talked to Bruce again (although he will talk to Bruce again), he would still have a family.

✰ NEW SHAPES: send me a fic and I’ll give you an alternate direction the fic could have gone!

Well, when I first started planning this fic (for last year's Dick Grayson Anniversary Week), I was trying to make it an actual heartwarming, complete apology that, while not fixing everything, left a very solid foundation. But every single fully sincere apology I could think of felt utterly ridiculous. I genuinely could not suspend my disbelief enough to believe that Bruce could apologize in a way that doesn’t make things worse. So, I ended up pulling out a draft that was permanently consigned to my notes. It was a personal thing, not fit for posting, but I figured I could try to fix it up.

After that, I think the main thing that nearly went differently was that I almost cut it off because I couldn’t think of an ending. Instead of getting through to Bruce, Dick would have forced down his feelings in the end, accepted Bruce’s apology (and lack of apology for the incidents they disagree on) and then Bruce would leave. And Dick would be alone.

But then I found a turning point, where Dick voices something that's just so out of place that it forces Bruce to confront how his actions are so messed up that they've created these really messed-up (but realistic, I think) thought processes. That, despite not meaning to, he hurt his son.

☹ EVIL TWIN: send me a fic or scene and I’ll give you the unhappy ending version of it!

This was really fun. My first thought was that the conversation escalated and Bruce got violent again, but I figured that's boring, and I could do better. So I challenged myself to imagine the actual worst dumpster fire of an ending possible. And then I worked back from there to light that fire.

That turning point I mentioned in the previous question? It could very easily have sent the conversation careening in the opposite direction. So I’ve started the story from there. Enjoy your dumpster fire ending!

***

“I want you to hit me again,” Dick admits. For a moment, there’s silence. And then—

“What.” Bruce’s voice is flat and cold. Dick flinches at the sound of it.

He—it made sense in his head. If Bruce just…just hit him. Now. After Spyral. Not under mind control. No Court of Owls, or dead sons, or dead friends, or justification. If Bruce just hit him, Dick would know. He would know that this is what Bruce does, that Bruce hits him, that it’s a thing, and Dick can be angry all he wants and it won’t be just stupid, childish resentment.

But sitting in the silence and listening to the words echo in his ears, Dick knows there has to be something wrong with him, something that makes him push and poke and prod and provoke until Bruce loses his patience. After all, what kind of kid—not that Dick is a kid, but he sure feels like one right now—what kind of kid wants his father to hit him? What kind of kid says that out loud?

When Bruce speaks again, his words dig their claws into Dick’s heart and scoop out the rot hiding inside. Because, as much as Dick wishes he wasn’t, Bruce is right. “If you’re looking for whatever villain you’ve built up in your head, Dick, you’re not going to get it.”

“Villain,” Dick echoes. Everything is cold, not just Bruce’s voice. The air in his apartment. The air in his lungs. The cavity Bruce has carved into his chest where his heart is supposed to beat.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Bruce asks. “I fired you. I’m to blame for Jason’s death. I’m to blame for everything, aren’t I?” Dick’s fists clench, thumbs trapped against the wood of the table. “I made mistakes. I’ll be the first to admit that. But—”

“Mistakes?” Dick can’t keep the hysteria out of his tone. He was trying to be calm. Reasonable. He alwaystries. But something about arguing with Bruce turns him into a timebomb. And sooner or later, he explodes. And even if he calms down, even if he tries to reel himself in, he just explodes again. And again. And again. Until one of them leaves. “You want to talk about Jason’s death? Because you blamed me for that too, and then you hit me, and the first time you even thought to apologize is half a decade later! You beat me until I agreed to leave my family behind and go on that godforsaken mission and even now, you can’t even acknowledge what you did! All you can say is that you made mistakes!”

“What do you even want me to say, then?” Bruce asks. His face is contorted with something that Dick has only seen a few times before. In the cave, after Jason’s death. As Batman pulled him from Blüdhaven’s wreckage. In the cave again, after the Crime Syndicate. It’s a face Dick has only ever seen on Batman in their worst moments together. But now, Bruce is wearing it, and Dick can’t force his lungs to breathe. “You’re acting like a child, right now.”

“Maybe stop treating me like one then!” Dick screams.

He doesn’t mean it in the way he meant it at twelve, at sixteen, at nineteen. He doesn’t mean that Bruce isn’t giving him enough responsibility or independence, or that Bruce doesn’t trust him.

Dick means that he will never be able to say anything to convince Bruce that he did more than just make a mistake. No matter what, Dick’s words will always be less trustworthy, less valid, less real. Bruce will hold a court session in his head and Dick’s thoughts will never be anything other than an unreliable eyewitness testimony.

That’s unfair to Bruce. Dick has no way of proving that he’s right—about Bruce hitting him after Gordon’s supposed death, about the events before Spyral being more than just a brutal spar, about Bruce’s actions being a step above mistake and crossing over into something he doesn’t want to name. Why should Bruce trust him, when he accidentally lied about not agreeing to spar? Why should Bruce trust him, when he took the most thorough apology Bruce has ever given and pushed and prodded until he made it another argument,��just like he always does?

But it still stings.

Bruce’s response stings even more.

“I tried to apologize,” Bruce says. “I sat here while you accused me of one terrible thing after the next. But—”

Dick can’t help but interrupt. (That’s wrong. He needs to take responsibility; he can help it. He just doesn’t.)“It’s not an apology if—”

“—playing the victim—”

“—you’re arguing with me—”

“—own up to my flaws but—” 

“—every other second!”

“I won’t apologize for something I never did!” Bruce roars, hands slamming into the table as he stands. The surface trembles, and Dick wonders if this will be it, and the kitchen table will finally crack. He’ll get a bigger one, this time. One with room for enough chairs for everyone.

His mind, Dick realizes, is not totally there. He can hear everything Bruce is saying. He can see the kitchen around them. But right now, the world doesn’t feel entirely real. “I didn’t ask you to!” Dick yells back. He thinks at least. He can’t really tell. His voice sounds too-loud and too-quiet at the same time. “I didn’t ask you to break into my apartment when I just wanted to sleep and try to talk about it, okay? Nothing’s stopping you from leaving!”

“I was trying to make things right!” Bruce screams, stepping forwards. Dick scrambles out of his chair and takes a step back, towards the corner of the kitchen. Away from the door. Not that Dick could reach the door anyway—Bruce is blocking the exits.

Dick remembers noticing that, when Bruce sat down. That Bruce put himself between Dick and the exits. Because he both of them appreciate being able to watch all the entrances, but he doesn’t know that right now, Dick feels like a cornered animal. Bruce would never have thought that Dick needed an exit to feel safe. “This?” Dick sweeps an arm out. “This is not making things right! This is making things worse, like you always do!”

Bruce takes another step forward. This time, Dick refuses to give any more ground. There’s not much further he can retreat in the corner anyway. Bruce opens his mouth, presumably to scream something else, before he abruptly pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is cutting, but no longer a scream. A knife, instead of a club. A knife that buries itself in Dick’s chest and twists. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You said you want me to hit you. And so you do this.” Bruce shakes his head. “This isn’t you, Dick. There’s something wrong with you, right now, making you act like this. Have you been exposed to any—”

Bruce says more, but Dick can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. All he knows is that he needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs to get out.

He can’t get out. The exits are blocked.

He needs to—

Over the next few weeks, Dick will look back on this moment and replay it over and over again in his head. He will try to tell himself that he was just acting instinctively, that he wasn’t thinking, that his vigilante brain perceived a threat and lashed out. But he’ll know better.

Dick hand forms a practiced fist and strikes Bruce in the face.

No. Dick needs to take responsibility. Dick strikes Bruce in the face.

And for a moment, the world freezes. Bruce, with his head thrown to the side. Dick, with a fist raised, blood beginning to well from where one of his knuckles scraped against a tooth. And the room, empty, with no one to bear witness. Just like always.

Except it’s entirely different.

Dick sucks a breath of air into the vacuum of his lungs. Bruce slowly lifts his head. For a moment, they both stare at each other.

And then Dick collapses against the wall, barely remaining upright. His mind is filled with a cacophony of voices, all screaming the same thing. “I’m sorry,” Dick says. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I’m sorry.”

Dick hit him. Not to fight him while he was making a mistake. He just hit him. During an argument.

Bruce has never hit Dick outside costume. Even during the spar, they wore their cowl and mask.

Dick didn’t just hit Bruce, didn’t just make a horrible—a horrible mistake. He crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeats. It’s all he can do. He knows how it sounds. ‘I didn’t mean to’s and ‘I’m sorry’s. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Are you done?” Bruce asks, wiping away the blood from a cut on his lower lip. His voice isn’t warm, but it isn’t cold either. It just is. Are you done? Are you done being a problem? Are you done escalating every fucking argument you get into? Are you done playing the victim, when you just struck someone you love and made him bleed?

“Please,” Dick says. He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. Forgiveness? That would make it worse. If Bruce forgave him. What he did— “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bruce says quietly. “I’m sorry too.” Bruce shouldn’t be apologizing. Dick hit him. This is all wrong.

Bruce was right. Dick keeps playing the victim, when all he’s done is create the problems.

Bruce helps Dick into his chair at the table and steps back. Dick’s skin crawls the whole time, but he can’t think of anything except the impact of Bruce’s skin beneath his fist. “I’ll see you next week,” Bruce says. “There’s a case that could use another pair of hands.”

Dick looks down. When he looks back up, Bruce is gone. He doesn’t know quite how long it was between.

All this time, Dick held grievances against Bruce for, what? Treating him like an equal? Like someone he could speak to honestly? Like someone who could stand up for himself if he didn’t want to spar?

Bruce wanted to apologize. And Dick responded by hitting him.

It’s clear, now, where the poison lies. Seeping into Dick’s blood. Dripping from the cut on his knuckle. Pulsing within his very veins.

[dancing--lights]

27 for the ask game? 😁

Thank you for this! I did this one from Neve's pov, and had a lot of fun with it.

Here's the list if anyone want it: Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss.

27. ...as a suggestion.

If you want a decent meal, a stiff drink and a good song, there are worse places for all three in Dock Town than the Lamplighter. Sure, there are better, but not for what we were doing.

I’d been frequenting the place more than usual lately, and not just for leads. I stood alone at the bar, one hand around a half-finished drink, my back to the counter. It was just after sunset, and busy. Lex was playing, and he always drew a crowd. Most of the tables in the room were occupied. I had my eye on one in particular.

The Threads had always had their fair share of problems–or caused them–but those problems were dealt with, usually quickly and quietly. After Aelia? They were a mess. And, they were mine to clean up.

“Want me to top you off there, Boss?”

It was the barkeep. He’d kept his distance most of the evening. He was good at his job. I’d spent most of the night in quiet conversation with a merchant who’d been not-so-quietly claiming his charms might be infused with red lyrium. You’d think that would scare people away. Not in Minrathous. In Minrathous, red lyrium is a problem, all on its own, but this merchant got his charm shipments through the Threads. Elek said the Threads had done business with the man for years, that he was usually reliable, but if Aelia or the gods had their hooks in, if he was Venatori or working with them, I needed to know. So, I’d asked Elek to arrange a meeting.

The merchant had turned up at the bar with an apology ready to go. I’d listened as he stumbled through it, and quickly realized, he was no Venatori. But he was a decent liar. He’d wanted to attract a certain kind of customer- the kind with money to spare. I’d told him it was a good way to get himself killed. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to stop.

“Thanks,” I nodded at the barkeep, my eyes still on the table in the corner, “I think we’re just about done here.”

I took a sip of my drink and watched Rook from my perch at the bar. She was worth a look, or two. She sat sprawled across from Elek, long legs crossed and resting casually on the table. She was waiting. It was his move, and he was stalling. She grinned, and said something to him I couldn’t quite make out. He shook his head, laid a card on the table, and drew another. This was their third game. He’d already lost two. 

It was Rook’s turn. She swung her legs off the table and sat up, cards in hand. She was still grinning. She tossed a few gold onto the growing pile between them, pulled from the deck and said something else to Elek. She arched a brow, and smirked. She was baiting him. He sat back in his chair and scoffed, loud enough that I could hear from my seat at the bar. I could see the faint outline of a card tucked away in his pocket. And he wasn’t the only one not playing fair. Rook had drawn two cards- one from the deck, and one she’d already discarded.

Apparently, one of those cards was the Angel of Death. Elek said something to Rook. It must have been, “you first.” Rook shrugged, and placed her hand face up on the table. Elek’s shoulders slumped, and he let his cards fall from his grasp, not even bothering to show them. Another win for Rook. I could tell she felt at least a bit sorry for him. She was trying not to laugh. She was also trying to give his coin back, but he wouldn’t take it. 

She caught my eye from across the room, and smiled. Not like before, when she was trying to rile Elek up. This was sweeter. Just for me.

She got up from her seat at the table, clapped Elek on the back, and made her way to the bar. She laid an arm across it, leaning against the counter next to me. Without a word, the bartender pulled an empty glass from a shelf, and poured her one of what I was having. She thanked him, and took a sip, before giving me another smile.

“Proud of yourself?” I asked.

“Well, I did just win three rounds of Wicked Grace in a row, so…”

“And, how’s Elek? Holding up?”

“He’ll live,” she smirked. 

“He’ll beat you someday, you know.”

“He’ll try,” she turned to me then. She looked… worried, maybe. Or, at least, concerned, “how was the meeting?”

I sighed, “It went about as well as it could have. He wasn’t Venatori, there was no actual red lyrium to sell, and he’s agreed to stop pretending there is. I’ll take the win.”

“Well, that’s… good?”

“It could have been worse.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I gave her a tired smile, “You know me.”

“Ready to get out of here?”

“I need to go over a few things with Elek, and maybe check in with Cida-”

“Neve,” she stopped me. If she wasn’t worried before…

“Rook-”

“Neve,” she leaned closer, a slight furrow in her brow. She was definitely worried. “You have to sleep at some point. How much did you get last night?”

“Enough to still be here today?”

She pursed her lips.

“Fine,” I sighed, “not much.”

She took my hand in hers, and pressed it quickly to her lips. Just for a moment. Just for me. A suggestion.

“Alright, Rook,” I ceded, trying not to smile, “you win this one. Back to the Lighthouse. But we’re coming back tomorrow.”

“Of course,” she grinned, “I promised Elek another game.”

[hyunjincanraptoo]

hii could i ask for #11 please? 🫶🏼 ur prompts are amazingg

Hi, anon, ofc!! Thank you 🫶 I really wanted to make something different from the prompts I see out there, I'm glad you liked 💜

(this one is another I'm feeling tempted to write part 2 👀)

This is from my prompt list. Pick a number and send it to my asks.

Warnings: smut, blowjob

Word count: 1.1k

Alexa, play Casual by Chappell Roan

Car sex (I know isn't exactly sex but it's what I felt writing)

The night had been full of laughter, clinking glasses, and the kind of tipsy conversations that came with too many drinks. You had a great time, but now, in the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car, things felt different. Your energy was starting to settle, leaving you with a sense of desire that was beginning to overtake your mind.

Hyunjin, however, wasn’t in the same mood. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched as he focused on the road ahead. He hadn’t said much since you both left the bar. His eyes, though, flickered to you from time to time, and you could tell he wasn’t exactly happy with the way the night had gone.

“I told you not to drink so much, didn’t I?”, he muttered, his voice tight, his usual cool demeanor replaced with irritation, “You always do this, Yn. You don’t think when you’re drunk”. You could tell he was trying to keep his cool, but the annoyance was evident. The way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way he kept his eyes on the road, not letting you distract him.

You leaned closer, your breath warm against his neck, “I’m fine”, you muttered softly, “I was just having fun. Don’t be so serious…”. It was then that your hand slipped, slowly at first, fingers brushing over his thigh. The motion was subtle, but it didn't take long before you were gently rubbing him through his pants. You could feel his muscles tense under your touch, the heat of his body responding to you, and it only made your pulse quicken.

“Yn, what are you doing?”, his voice was lower now, as he glanced over at you for a fraction of second. His grip on the wheel tightened again, knuckles pale. He was trying to stay focused, but you could tell how badly you were distracting him.

"I just want to make you feel good, Hyunie", you murmured, your fingers moving a little bolder, putting even more pressure. His cock twitched under your touch, and you smiled at the effect you were having on him. The alcohol in your system made everything feel so much more intense— the need to touch, to feel, to drive him crazy.

You slid your hand higher, brushing against his growing arousal, and that’s when he snapped. “Stop. Right now.” His voice was hard, commanding, but you could hear the breathlessness beneath it. His heart was racing, “You’re gonna get us both killed”. But your drunk neurons didn't care. The need for him, the way his body reacted to your touch, it drove you wild, got you intoxicated even. You needed him, and you needed him now.

Before he could scold you again, you moved faster, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, your lips brushing against the soft skin of his neck. “You’re too stressed”, you said, your breath hot, “Just let go, Hyunjin. Let me help you relax”.

He swore under his breath, hands shaking now as he brought the car to the side of the road, pulling over sharply, “This is dangerous”, he said, his voice low, shaky, as his gaze locked onto yours. He was so clearly fighting with himself, wanting you, but knowing how reckless it was to be doing this in the car while driving.

You couldn't care less. Your hand slid down to the waistband of his jeans, opening with practiced ease, your fingers brushing his hard member. Hyunjin’s eyes closed, a quiet moan escaping his lips. He bit his lip, looking like he was holding himself together by a thread.

“Yn…”, his voice was a mix of frustration and desperation, but you didn’t notice. You were already sliding your hand inside, finally feeling the warmth of him— his thick length already leaking. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your own body. You could feel him twitching against your palm, his breath coming in shallow bursts.

“You’re so hard”, you whispered, your voice heavy with desire as you stroked him gently, teasingly. The car was now completely still, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the engine and the soft rustling of your movements. You leaned over, never breaking eye contact with him. His gaze was a mix of disbelief and hunger as you slowly took him into your mouth.

The first swirl of your tongue made him gasp, his hands clutching the steering wheel as he tried to hold on to the little control he had left. You moved slowly at first, savoring the taste of him, the way he trembled under your touch, the way his hands tugged at your hair. He was trying to keep it together, but the more you took him in, the more he lost himself in the pleasure you were giving him.

“Fuck, Yn”, he groaned, his head thrown back as you took him deeper, your hands working the parts of him your mouth couldn’t reach. You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his chest was rising and falling with every breath, how he gripped the seat in an attempt to anchor himself. His voice, low and broken, cut though the silence, “If you don’t stop… I’m not gonna last much longer”.

Well, that was the point. You moved faster, your mouth sucking him with purpose, with all the desire you felt. You wanted him so badly, wanted to take him as deep into your throat as you could. He was close, you could feel it, and you wanted to bring him to the edge, make him come undone in your mouth.

With a low, guttural groan, he finally reached his peak, his cock twitching as he released into your mouth. You swallowed, taking it all, your body still trembling. Hyunjin’s breath came in ragged gasps as he leaned back against the seat, trying to pull himself together. You smiled softly, wiping your mouth as you sat back up, the silence between you both heavy. “You’re insane”, he said, his voice still shaky. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction, “You can’t just do that when I’m driving, babe. You know that, right?”

You smirked, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips, “I couldn’t help it. You make me want you all the time”. His hand cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your lips, “We’ll talk about it later”, he muttered, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky I can't resist to you as well”. You just laughed, feeling the tension between you two ease, knowing that no matter how reckless the moment was, you both couldn’t deny how good it felt.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[erwinsvow]

i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?

the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.

top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.

you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.

topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.

you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.

"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"

"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.

"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.

"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.

in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.

"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.

"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."

"m'not apologizin', i-"

"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"

"once or twice?"

"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"

"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.

"what? it was new years."

"where the hell was i?"

"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[babyboywilson]

do you think poker night would be a domestic thing if hilson got together or would house kick him out of the apartment once a week just to be a dick

poker night starts out domestic. it starts with house’s legs propped up in wilson’s lap, wilson using his free hand to trail fingers up and down house’s shin and drawing silly patterns against the material of house’s jeans; occasionally slipping fingers under the hem of the jeans to graze fingertips against skin which always makes house shudder. they play against house’s tax accountant, dry cleaner, and the guy house knows from the bus stop. there’s playful jabs between house and wilson, but everyone at the table seems to know it’s some kind of weird foreplay between house and wilson and they stay out of it. house and wilson share the same bottle of beer, passing it back and forth to each other and their touch lingers every time they do. they bicker over every round of the game, yet house has a fond look on his face and wilson has a tender glow to his eyes whenever he looks at house.

it always seems to go downhill when wilson wins more rounds than house does. wilson grins such a smug little smirk at house, because he’s a cocky winner and house is a sore loser. house drops his legs out of wilson’s lap and mutters darkly about never loving wilson in the first place. wilson blows house a kiss and claims he’s going to win the next round, too. he does. and the next. and the next.

house starts to get agitated, dropping his cards and muttering about his leg hurting as he makes his way towards the kitchen for another beer. wilson cheers when he wins the next round and teases that they should switch to strip poker because house is going to end up naked in three rounds flat. “get out,” house grits out, motioning at all four of them and nodding towards the door before turning on his heel, marching towards his room. the other three pack up their stuff and move to leave without complaint. wilson, however, moves to follow house on instinct. “you too, get out,” house hisses, moving into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. wilson leans up against the bedroom door and drops his forehead against it with a thunk. “house? c’mon, it’s just a game. let me in,” wilson calls out, tone switching from gloating to fondly exasperated because he really doesn’t think house will throw up out over a dumb poker game. house ignores him. wilson avoids everyone’s gaze as he packs up his stuff too and grabs his jacket, not wanting to acknowledge the fact house was kicking him out of their now shared space.

everyone else leaves. wilson settles against the wall by house’s front door and closes his eyes. he drifts into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep propped up in the hallway. he cracks his eyes open what must be hours later when house opens the door and locks eyes with wilson’s bleary gaze. house turns and walks back into the apartment without saying a word. wilson knows he’s silently forgiven and he follows house back into the apartment. the bedroom door is open, and wilson knows he’s been given permission to sleep in the bed next to house. wilson sleepily kisses house good night, and house kisses him back. definitely forgiven.

the same thing happens a week later. and the following week. and the week after that.

everyone knows it’s a charade now. house isn’t actually mad at wilson. it’s just another weird way the two of them flirt.

[semperama]

AHHHHHH will you write me buddie for 56 "it brings out your eyes"????????? 😃😃😃

“It brings out your eyes.”

----

"Okay, which one?" Buck asks, holding up two different t-shirts, one sky blue and one salmon-y pink.

Eddie sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. He's been perched on the end of Buck's bed for what feels like an hour, watching him fuss with his hair and then rifle through his closet. "I don't know, Buck." He lets his gaze drift down Buck's body for what feels like the millionth time, trying to ignore the way it gets fractionally harder to breathe each time he does it. "The blue, I guess. It brings out your eyes."

Buck snorts. "I'm going to a club. No one'll be able to see what color my eyes are." He tilts his head to the side and grins. "Not that they'll be looking anyway."

"Oh my God." Eddie looks up at the ceiling and says a silent prayer for mercy. "This is why I told you I wouldn't be much help. What do I know about clubs?" Much less gay clubs.

"Come on, man." Buck tosses the salmon shirt down on the bed and starts peeling the blue one off the hanger. "I'm freaking out, okay? Are you sure you can't come with me?"

Can't? Maybe that was a lie. With Chris gone, he has no good excuse to stay home these days. But the last thing he needs is to watch Buck get hit on by random strangers--especially not if alcohol is going to be involved. He wouldn't even have come over to help Buck get ready if he hadn't begged him. It'll be the first time I've gone out since me and Tommy broke up, Eddie. I could really use a pep talk.

"I don't even understand why you have to go," Eddie says. He watches Buck pull on the shirt, tries not to linger too long on how it stretches around his biceps, over his chest. "Is this really a good way to meet guys? At your age?"

Buck gasps with exaggerated affront. "At my age?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. "Last time we went out with Hen and Karen you puked in my front lawn and then complained about your hangover for two days."

"I did a bad job pacing myself that night," Buck says, his mouth twisted into what could almost be a pout. "Karen holds her alcohol better than I do. And anyway, they're older than us, so if they can go out--"

"They go out like twice a year. Together. As a couple. Not to meet people."

Buck's expression darkens. "Yeah, well. I'm not part of a couple, so." Okay. So Eddie fucked up with that one. He sighs, but before he can apologize, Buck spreads his arms out and swivels his torso a little. "Just...how do I look?"

He looks good enough to fucking eat, of course. The shirt hugs him in all the right places. His jeans make his ass look great. He must have found some new product for his hair, because his curls are perfect and soft-looking, begging to be touched. Eddie wants to drag him in by the belt loops and beg him to stay.

"You look great, Buck," he says quietly. Because Buck asked him for a pep talk, and so far he's failed the assignment. The least he can do is try to turn it around. The least he can do is be a good friend, not a selfish, jealous asshole. "Seriously, you're going to have guys falling at your feet."

The smile that creeps its way across Buck's face make it all worth it. He ducks his head, shrugs his shoulders up, and Eddie is stabbed by a longing so intense he's halfway to his feet before he realizes what he's doing and stops himself.

"I'll let you get going then," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets do he doesn't give in to the temptation to touch. "Let me know how it goes?"

"Yeah," Buck says. His gaze is searching Eddie's face. For what, Eddie doesn't know. "Yeah, of course."

Eddie makes it to the door, breath painful and ragged in his chest, before he hears Buck's feet pounding down the stairs behind him. He turns to look, to ask if there was something else, but he barely opens his mouth before Buck is there, one hand on Eddie's neck, the other wrapping around his waist, pulling him in so close it knocks the air out of his lungs.

Then, Buck is kissing him. Desperate press of lips, tongue licking into Eddie's shocked mouth. It's an electric shock, white heat spreading through him, painfully good.

But then as soon as it started, it's over, and Buck is staring at him, wide-eyed. Eddie wants to dive into that blue gaze and drown there.

"I'm sorry," Buck says. "I just--I had to try. I had to know, before I--"

"Buck." His fingers are curled in the back of Buck's shirt, and he curls them tighter, presses Buck closer. "Don't go," he says. "Stay here. With me."

"Okay," Buck says breathlessly. He looks like he has no idea what's happening, and Eddie knows the feeling, but they can talk later, figure it all out later.

"Good," Eddie says, and pushes his fingers into Buck's hair, pulls their mouths together again.